The Path of Cain
by TheFirstStranger7
Summary: A pale rider stole from me everything I knew and loved. Killing me would have been easier because somehow, someway, I'll give him a reckoning he won't even believe.


**Hello my devoted readers and newcomers alike. This is The First Stranger.**

 **I know that I was gone for longer than I said I would be, but I had a bit of a college problem-I didn't apply for anything since I went on an extensive vacation to Europe most of summer-then I was trying to get back in the swing of college life.**

 **Anyway, I decided to do a bit of a DC western since I was bored.**

 **This first chapter's gonna be a bit broodier than usual because as I started writing this, I received one of the worst texts I'll ever get: the death of my grandfather.**

 **My mom lost her father and I lost my grandfather 20 years too early. I finish this chapter in his honor.**

 **WARNING: This'll really be rated mature. This will take place a little after the Civil War, so there will be a plethora of racism, violence, and other big kids stuff. If you can't handle that, then you really shouldn't be reading this.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I OWN NONE OF DC'S CHARACTERS. THIS WILL BE THE ONLY TIME I EMPHASIZE THIS**

"-behalf of the United States of America, please accept this flag as a token of gratitude for your father's service." The officer said lowly to my aunt, gently placing in her hands a triangle folded flag. My aunt took it as she let the tears slowly fall off her face. My mom stood somewhere else, also crying silently.

The sun brightly shined down over me and not a cloud was in sight. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect day to bury my grandfather.

My other aunts and uncles placed books on his flag robed coffin; they thought it was symbolic for his love of books, I thought it to be wasteful since I too loved books. I stood in the back of the concession, keeping my thoughts to myself and paying the most attention to my uncle. He was the only uncle I had that was relatively close to my age; he spent the least time with his father compared to the others. He was going to join grandfather's unit when this was all said and done.

Nearly everyone was crying as the officer's blared the bugle, everyone except my brothers and me. We weren't cold, we just didn't know how to display our grief effectively. We preferred to bottle them up.

My grandfather was a great man. Vietnam war veteran, he married my grandma and with her he brought my first aunt, uncle, and my mom into the world. Then he divorced and married a second wife, one who already had six children. They all swore he took them in as his own. He didn't abandon us, especially the ones who were in and out of jail, and worked extra hard to provide for all his children. Somehow-I didn't pay too much attention to the details-the number of eight children boosted up to twelve through the years.

My mom was the supposed "daddy's girl", kept her family close to her father. I can't recall how many times we stopped by to visit; he'd always be outside, grilling whole slabs of ribs. He was real good at it. He had a tall figure and a deep voice, always came out so strong to everybody he met. I should have known something was wrong when we had to stop by and help him move his house, should have recognized him becoming slower and skinnier.

He survived the war, two wives, and twelve children worth of trouble. But a cancer comes and takes him within a month. And now he rests.

After the burial we went to his old house, now our house since my family paid for it in full. We spent the time eating leftovers from the funeral and watching an old cassette tape one of my uncles found, a recording when everybody was younger (course I wasn't born yet). I watched a bit, laughed and made jokes, but my heart wasn't in it much.

I try not to be so grim, but my grandfather just died, so sue me.

There wasn't much in his new house, he was moved out of his old one real quick so he only had time to get the stuff that mattered to him the most; a lot of it were still in boxes.

"Cold reality of death." I muttered to myself. "What once was priceless now is junk."

Of course that wasn't entirely true, there was bound to be a big kerfuffle over some of the more sentimental stuff and as one grandchild out of a plethora my stake in the pot had no higher value than the others'. I suppose I should take solace my family legally owns the house.

Still, I wanted the guns.

As a child, I had a wicked fascination about the old guns my grandfather entombed in a picture and left hanging on his wall. They were still there, hanging just above my entire family who were more invested in the kiddy tape about the old days, just waiting to be claimed.

I looked up what models they were in my spare time: 1875 Remington US Navy issued revolvers; jet black, wooden grip, and still in pristine condition.

I dreamed about having those guns for six years, held fantasies about shooting Injuns or desperados. When I grew older, I wanted to get a gun permit so I could heft the black beauties in my hands and watch in amazement as I pull the trigger, hear the bang, and watch the bullet whiz down a range.

But my dad had a more…realistic plan for them: Take the painting, hang it up on his wall in his office, right next to his law degree certificates.

Both equally realistic and boring.

All I could do was sit down, watch the guns, and dream. Seemed like it would take fifty years before I could get those guns, but they would be mine someday.

I didn't know then, but someday would be coming real soon when I came back to the house the next night. The night _he_ came…

(Line Break)

"Why did I have to come along?"

"Because your father thinks that I shouldn't come here alone."

It was late night when my mom's car pulled up to the house. It was around dinner time so I was mad that I had to go on a little trip with my mom and she was mad that she apparently shouldn't go alone. I, being my mother's son, found that logic a little sexist and insensitive, but I brought with me a knife in secret, just in case.

Didn't like my father's reasoning, but it appealed to my paranoia. Murphy's Law won't sneak up on me!

My mom fumbled with the keys for a bit before finding the right one, only to have two dogs jump on her in joy. Lucy and Juno were my grandad's dogs, both aging and without an owner. My uncle would be coming into town soon, so we had to stop by and take care of them until then.

"Just visiting girls." Mom chided as she walked in the silent house, moving through the rooms like a predator in search of prey.

Oh yeah, she also wanted to take some stuff for herself. Here I was, wondering who out of all of grandad's twelve children would be the most insensitive and be the first person to start picking up what they wanted, and it turns out to be my mom and me. The irony of it all.

My granddad had a comfortable sofa set, over a hundred movies, and a decent sized TV to watch it all on, but that was just _stuff._ I was here for momentos.

Then I turned at saw his coat hanger, specifically the hats hanging on them. One such hat was camo colored, but held the form of a traditional Western hat. I kind of liked it that way.

"This is nice." I said, taking it off the hanger.

"It was his favorite." My mom said, coming out of his private room holding onto her great-grandfather's tri-fold flag and a samurai sword, the one we both just found out the other day. "Or, a replacement of his favorite. His favorite one was the one he wore in the war, but he lost that one, so he got a new favorite."

I placed it on my head, screw potential head lice. It was a bit tight, but that meant it wouldn't fall off easily. "Guess it's my favorite now."

My mom flashed a brief smile, one mixed with nostalgia and grief. The loss was still raw and I didn't expect it to go away so quickly. She was there the moment he died; I wished to the heavens that she wouldn't be. No child should see their father die, no matter the age.

All I can do now is pray he went to Heaven and live a life that makes him proud.

"Let's walk the dogs again and-"

My mom cut herself off. A bright light went through the front window and illuminated across her face; the light of a car pulling into the driveway.

Guess my dad was right bringing me along after all.

We stepped outside just as the man closed his car door. I couldn't help but whistle as I saw his car. An old Cadillac, Dover White I believe, and so shiny I could see the gleam from the dark. Its mystery owner, however, was a dark silhouette in the headlights of his car.

"Is this the residence of Conrad?" The man asked. His voice was smooth, the sound of an articulated man not quite breaking into a weaker tone to suggest he was well over his sixty.

"Yes. Who wants to know?" My mom questioned, the steel in her voice slowly rearing its head.

"A friend." He replied and walked towards the light. Finally a face came with the voice, a man with a properly trimmed beard and hair, both turning from dark brown to silver. With my height, he was still a head taller than me. Somehow, despite relying on a cane, he maintained a proper poster. He was also dressed in jet black, the color of a funeral.

"He and I served in the same platoon in Vietnam. You could say we were so close, I was with him every step of the way." He said.

I kept my hand on the hilt of my knife. The man stuck his head back in the car, only to come out with a bouquet of roses. It was his plan to put it on the grave, he claimed, but since his plane came in late he decided to put it at grandpa's house and that giving it to his daughter now seemed a better idea.

I kept quiet and let the adults talk. The man seemed kind enough, but something was rubbing me the wrong way…maybe it was because he showed up in the middle of the night.

Either way, my mom trusted him well enough, even let him take a walk around the house.

With her close supervision, of course.

"Did he spend his last days in peace and comfort?"

"As peaceful and as comfortable as we can manage." My mom admitted. She probably grew a few grey hairs dealing with my granddad's second ex-wife, of whom stayed to take care of him when Mom was gone. I never saw it, but everybody swears she was crazy and only granddad held the aptitude to handle her.

The mystery man kept the conversation short and the tour even shorter, undoubtedly realizing that he was overstaying his welcome. He was almost out the door when he abruptly stopped.

"Are those real?" He asked, his voice full of curiosity about something.

I turned to see that he noticed the dual pistols on the wall. "Sure are! My mom tells me we could take them out and fire them without a care in the world if we wanted to. Of course, they're already called for by….other interested parties. I won't be handling them for a good long time."

He briefly brushed his hand against the glass, as if in a dream. "Takes me back to when I was kid, just playing cowboys and Indians. Everything was simpler then." He said with a sigh.

"Being a kid?"

"Yes, but also those days. The age of cowboys and desperados, one could even argue the age of true men!" He sighed once more. "Don't you ever wish you could go back to those days?"

I gave an honest shrug. "I used to, but then I learned that there's no point in history that was a good time for a black man."

"Yes, I suppose that would dim the allure a bit for you," He agreed. "But then again….you never know."

"Again, I want to say how deeply sorry I am for your loss." He repeated at his car. "When we talked, he spoke so strong, so healthy. For him to pass so young…but that's life, I suppose: the unexplainable happens to the unfortunate."

"Thank you for showing your respects. We're trying to lock this place up, so please…"

"Say no more." The man assured as he started his car. With a turn of his keys, the car flared to life with a mighty roar. I may or may not have been a little jealous.

The man stuck his head out the window for the last time. "Perhaps we'll see each other soon." He promised with a friendly smile. "If I were you, I would take good care of those revolvers. They appear to be sturdy weapons and one never knows when you'll need those."

And with a fluid turning motion, the white Cadillac exited the driveway and drove into the night, leaving my mother and I in the cover of darkness.

"What a creep."

"You can say that again."

The drive back home was a silent one. I didn't even feel that hungry anymore.

My mom was concerned that the man was a robber, a thief who wanted an easy score but didn't know that we were there. Seeing the man's car made me think against that. He looked wealthy enough, maybe he was just another mystery friend paying his respects. If he wasn't, well Juno and Lucy weren't exactly "house pets." They'll ruin any trespasser's day.

That interaction-though mysterious and disturbing as it was-was something better forgotten.

So that was what I did. I went home, joked with my family, swallowed down my mom's cooking, showered, laid in bed, twiddled granddad's hat in my fingers, and eventually fell asleep with the man being in the very back of my head.

That night I dreamed a nightmare.

I stood in the eye of the hurricane, everything around me swirling in chaos as the clear sky was blood red. Suddenly, the ground beneath me opened to over a dozen rotting hands that held a vice like grip on my legs. I cried out, struggled for all the good that it could do me. The hands pulled me into a pitch black veil of darkness.

Suddenly my face hit the pavement. I looked up sharply to see the headlights of that white Cadillac blaring in my face. Somehow, through the blinding light, I could see the man with a sickening grin clutching his steering wheel as his car sped right towards me.

I wished I could say I woke up at that point.

The funny thing was, I woke up just a little bit after my face hit the pavement.

"Aw he-" I couldn't even finish before I got up and running. I spun my head quickly to see the bright light getting brighter and brighter by the second.

I jumped off road. My world spiraled as I tumbled down the hill and into the woods. I looked up to see the headlights flash a few feet above me, but the car didn't go down in the hill after me.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was safe. "He'd have to be an idiot to come after me-"

Suddenly there was a shriek unlike any other. It stung my ears and filled them with a sound like a high pitched scream from hell.

Then a blazing white horse leapt down the hill, its rider just as mad as it was.

I bolted into the woods.

" _Run boy!"_ The man's voice boomed behind me. It cackled like an inhuman witch in laughter, sending shivers down my spine as I kept moving. _"Run like the Devil hisself is behind you!"_

He didn't need to tell me twice.

Then there was nothing.

 **X**

 **CHAPTER ONE**

 **X**

I couldn't move my legs. Well, I could, but they got the most searing pain if I tried.

"-…..ages." Said a voice, one that sounded so far away, like an echo from a deep well.

"What?" I croaked.

"I said don't try to move, you'll ruin the bandages." It- _she-_ repeated. I flashed my eyes open for a second, got treated to the most intensive light I had ever seen in my life for my stupidity. I must be in a hospital.

"What's my prognosis doctor?"

"Umm…." She said in hesitance.

"Nurse then?" I questioned.

"I am a nun. A sister of the Holy Cross." She clarified.

 _A convent?_ I didn't know they still had those in America anymore. I remember the tales about nuns being nurses, so I settled that there was no reason to worry about being in a hospital or not. I was still alive, and that was thanks enough.

"Forgive me…uh…Sister. So, what's the report? Will I be okay?"

"Why yes! You're left leg's quite broken, it should take a while for it to heal properly. Your ribs are the same manner, but you have nothing life-threatening." She promised.

"Oh man, first broken bones." I lamented. "Oh well, bound to happen at some point. Could you turn off the light?"

"W-What?" The lady asked, her voice made it sound like I asked something impossible.

"….The light? Could you turn it off?"

"Why sir, this is nothing but sunlight!"

"Oh great. It's just my eyes then…" I forced myself to see, running through the searing pain of light. Probably wasn't the best thing to do in case my eyes were damaged, but it had to be done at some point.

At first there was the dreary light, then I saw some shades, and then those shades started to take the shape of a gentle face until I stared into the eyes of the nun. I try not to stare into people's faces, makes me feel like people think I'm stalking them or something, but when I looked at this woman before me…it was like a tractor beam.

Emerald eyes, flawless face, and a strand of jet black hair that came out over those head things nuns wear.

' _Somebody pinch me, I must be in Heaven…'_

Then my mind slapped itself out of the stupor. _Nun. Celibacy._

"I-I am so sorry for staring!"

"No harm was done." She assured. "Surely it is not a sin to stare at a friend's face, no?"

I sighed. "Bible's a fickle thing. It says one thing but could mean something else entirely."

"You've read the Bible?" The nun asked in wonder.

"Christian, born and raised." I said fluidly. "My parents raised me on it and all, then they decided when I was old enough to make the choice for myself whether God is real or not-their religion wasn't going to get me to Heaven. I chose to believe."

Why was I telling a mystery lady about my beliefs? Was it out of some kind of respect? Was it because she was kinda hot? Fat chance I would ever get with her-way out of my league, and kind of a nun.

"You seemed to have terrible nightmares." The lady pointed out. "Forgive me for saying, but it made me glad to not be you."

"Yeah…." My mind flashed the horrible ordeal I endured the night before. The car. The horse. The chase. The man.

' _That man…what did he want? He seemed so kind and we just met. Why would he want to…why would anyone want to kill me?'_

"You could say they were terrible, but I won't be having them anymore." I said, firmly settling in my mind that he wouldn't catch me with my pants down the next time. If he ever come across me, I'll show him the rainbow connection.

"I am pleased to hear it!" The woman brightly spoke. "And don't worry, you'll be safe and sound here in good old 1875."

"Thank you." I replied. I closed my eyes, gently letting sleep take over me.

Then I snapped them wide open.

"1875?"

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next one will come….when it's ready.**

 **REVIEW AND PRIVATE MESSAGE AT YOUR LEISURE.**

 **R.I.P.**

 **CONRAD GARDNER**

 **GOOD SOLDIER, GREAT FATHER, EVEN GREATER GRANDFATHER**


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